


rare form

by kitoky



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitoky/pseuds/kitoky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lola confirms the truth in the sex journal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rare form

**Author's Note:**

> The people were screaming for Lola/Narcisse smut and so the people must be appeased.  
> Shameless, plotless smut. Unbeta'd and probably awful. This is legitimately the first smut fic I have ever written ever. EVER. Because apparently Craig Parker does things to me.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please do not repost or re-publish on any other site.**

She's awakened by the familiar sounds of Stéphane sliding under the bedding to crawl in beside her. It was one of those late nights where he often hosted food and wine for his fellow lords. 'Business,' he says by way of explanation. She doesn't bother to crack an eye open, only half wondering how late it must have been. Lola's craving for sleep has trumped most of her other needs these past few weeks, as if her body was preparing itself for the coming storm.

 

Only a month ago, she found she had missed her moon's blood. Soon after, she picks up the telltale signs: finding herself more irritable and head pains here and there without much stress. She confirms it with a visit to their physician, who prodded and nodded at her own self-diagnosis. Lola had hoped she and Narcisse would have a bit longer together before having a child, but she supposed it was inevitable given the frequency of their coupling. She is delighted and frightened, understandably. Not only from her first experience with Jean-Philippe and how dire a position she was in, but also because of Narcisse's history with wives and heirs.

 

A few weeks later, she tells her lord husband at dinner made of a typical roast with potatoes. A typical dinner with not-so-typical news.

 

"With child?" he asks, placing his drink down. She smiles at his happy disbelief. "How long now?"

 

"A month and some weeks," she says. "I wanted to be sure."

 

Narcisse nods, pleased. They don't speak much over their meal, but she finds herself often flushing under his intent gaze.

 

Lola is on the edges of sleep again when she feels Stéphane press himself against her, a familiar arm wrapping across her stomach. She instinctively curls up further into a ball to combat his cold hands. They soon grow warmer as he draws lazy circles against her nightdress with his thumb. She can smell the wine coming off his breath, present but not overpowering. Lola moves to place her hand over his, but he slips it past her grasp and starts to pull the edges of her chemise up bunching the fabric around her waist.

 

"Stéphane," she breathes, pressing her face into her pillow. Her muscles in her body tenses from anticipation, her toes curl in eagerness. Lola's hand scrambles once again to grasp his - this time succeeding. However, it does only to further prove his intentions, as her hand follows the motions of his, and soon she feels the roughness of his fingers at her opening.

 

Still, her eyes remain closed, unable to face how readily her body reacts to his ministrations. Lola grabs the edges of her shift and presses her hands desperately against the pressure building low in her belly. His fingers stroke steadily along the wetness of her lips, and she offers a small gasp as a finger slips inside. Now, his hand seem aflame against her folds and her head seems in a haze. Vaguely, she feels the hardness of him against her backside through the barrage of soft kisses against the side of her face moving from the crown of her head to the corners of her mouth. Eagerly, she twists just so and she's able to capture his lips in her own in the midst of darkness.

 

She braces a hand against his chest, finding that he is without his shirt and her hand feel like ice against his heat. Her eyes finally peel themselves open, as Narcisse shifts to position himself over her, all the while never allowing his fingers to leave her opening. As her eyes adjust to dim light, the familiar convulsion of muscles begin to resonate through her. Between languid kisses and his skilled fingers, she's soon shuddering underneath him - the sound of her heavy breaths too loud in her own ears.

 

As her body steadily comes down from the high, she takes the time to register him in the darkness. No doubt their lovemaking had become most arduous since their marriage, no longer stunted by her nerves regarding impropriety. She had seen many sides of him in the bedroom, most of which fully support their initial findings in the sex journal. He often initiated some unorthodox methods that Lola was anxious about at first, but soon felt exhilarated by.

 

Narcisse did none of that tonight. His eyes were shadowed, but they shone with intent. His hands were now at her throat, gently cupping her jawline as he took much care in occupying her lips with his -- her tongue with his. Long moments passed when he slowly kisses his way from her lips, pecking the dip in her chin with affection, down along her neck to tease the caverns along her collarbone. Never had she felt so worshipped as she does now. The pleasant feeling was returning to her sex, but moreso there was a fire blossoming in her heart.

 

She knows that she was inexperienced compared to many women at court, and very much compared to her new lord husband. She had only King Francis and Lord Julien -- Remy -- to compare. During her solitary time with the King, Francis was more clumsy, needy and all she expected her first time with someone equally as young as she would be. And Remy, sweet and adoring in nature, was simple and loving. The attentions Lord Narcisse is giving her now all but shatters what delightful memories the others had brought her. His touches on her were reverent and slow, focused and giving.

 

Lola's fingers sift through the short hairs at the base of Stephane's head, scratching his scalp here and there the way he often likes. He returns her attentions by enveloping a nipple in his mouth, the other breast equally charged by his gentle squeezes. She's unable to comprehend the change in his behavior but also finding herself impatient with it. Lola slides her knee up, brushing against the hardness through his trousers. A simple touch here, a brush there. She smiles to herself at his irritated groan, before throwing her head back as he bites at her breast.

 

"What a vixen you've become," he smirks, and that was the Narcisse she had unwittingly fallen in love with.

 

"As your lady wife, it is my duty to relieve you of your discomforts," Lola responds, reaching down between them to push down the only cotton barrier left between them. Narcisse captures her lips once more as he frees himself of his breeches. She squirms, feeling herself already wet again for him. Her heartbeat is loud and hard against her chest, settling her hands on either side of his face to keep them from pulling at his member like some wanton from a whorehouse. Soon, the tip of him is prominent against her opening - the simple feel of it thrilling her. Narcisse's lips hover just above her own, their nose brushing against each other. The heat of them is almost too much for her to bear. One of her hands braces against his back, the other set firmly against his jawline. Their eyes do not break from each other through the darkness, even when Narcisse finally slips inside.

 

And then their bodies fall into the familiar motion of their coupling. Lola mewls against his pants, her rhythm following his with each thrust. Had she ever known such a pleasure as this? The remarkable reality of her life sets in as she recalls the uncertainty of their courtship, the struggle to realize what they meant to each other in light of the politics of the French rule. What did love mean to them in the chaos of power and control? His lips return to her jawline, finding the weak spot she didn't know she had while her legs tangle around his beneath the covers. His pace quickens when she claws at his shoulders, a sign of her oncoming climax.

 

He presses his mouth against her ear. "Give me a son," he grinds out, and the ferocity in his voice makes her gasp.

 

"Yes," she manages, whether in compliance to his demand or the force of his thrusts she doesn't know. But soon his motions become shallow and quick and the hotness of his seed inside her pushes her over her peak. Narcisse buries his face in the waves of her hair, staying atop of her until their heartbeats steady. He shifts off of her, not bothering with pulling his breeches back on. Her lord husband keeps a strong hand at her cheek, brushing his thumb against the skin right below her eye. She returns the motion, only her fingertips tease the scruff of his beard. She shivers at the memory of it scraping against her ear, her neck, the sensitivity of her breast.

 

"You're in a rare form tonight," the Lady Narcisse teases, only daybreak is starting to creep over the horizon.

 

"As your lord husband, it is my duty to keep things interesting - lest you become bored of me," his eyes show his mischief and Lola hides her doubt regarding their relationship becoming uninteresting.

 

"I suppose we'll have to make the most of it before it's impossible," she says, rubbing the small swell of her belly.

 

A twinkle in Narcisse's eye surprises her. "Oh, there are a fair few tricks up my sleeve for that."

 

Her own imagination of what is to come is too much for her then, and her exhaustion catches up to her. "Incorrigible," she mutters, pulling the bedding up. "Go to sleep, husband. You have indulged in far too many vices this night."

 

And to her surprise, he only smiles and pulls her to him. Not long after, they fall into contented sleep.


End file.
